


Keith is Body Posi

by amassivehomosexual



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Eating Disorders, M/M, langst (lance angst)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 10:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7613908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amassivehomosexual/pseuds/amassivehomosexual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lance is struggling and Keith helps him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keith is Body Posi

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written fanfiction before. Be gentle with me as I project on Lance

Lance never shows up for breakfast. No one finds this very suspicious, the running assumption being the boy’s inability to get out of bed at a reasonable time. After all, he loves his precious beauty sleep.

 

It’s only when Keith finds him wandering outside his room one morning that his interest in Lance’s activities is piqued. He’s still in his pajamas, a wrinkled set of blue cotton. The top is unbuttoned and hanging loose around his shoulders. Keith must have given him a weird look or something, because Lance’s expression quickly turns from amiable to defensive. He tugs his shirt closed and crosses his arms over his chest.

 

“What are you doing up so early?” Keith asks, unable to keep the hint of disdain from his voice.

 

Lance narrows his eyes and purses his lips. “What’s it to ya, huh?”

 

“God, nothing, it’s just unlike you to not be a bum.”

 

“Screw you!” Lance sniffs and turns on his heel to return to his room. Before closing the door behind himself, he pokes his head out with a final “I’m always up this early, for your information!”

 

Keith raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t ponder over the encounter for long. He decides Lance just isn’t a morning person. Blaming the heat in his cheeks on frustration, he continues down the hall to the kitchen.

 

\---

 

A few nights later, Keith is rather perplexed when he sees Lance is barely touching his food at dinner (if he can really call this substance “food”).

 

Lance is all chatter of course, barely pausing in his rambling to breathe. Keith is getting used to this rather obnoxious behavior, so he pays it little mind. It’s only when he glances over and sees that Lance has been edging his goo to a corner of the plate, heaping it on top of itself, that he starts to find his actions suspicious. Has Lance even taken a bite yet? Sure, the boy talks too much to ever have enough time to chew, but it’s not like he stays and finishes up when everyone else gets up to scrape their dishes. He stands and dumps the majority of his meal in the trash. Nobody comments on this, and Keith wonders if he’s the only one who witnessed it. It’s possible the rest of the team is distracted by (or just sick of and fleeing from) Lance’s stories and jokes.

 

Keith doesn’t bring it up. He doesn’t want Lance to ask why he noticed (Keith won’t even admit to himself that he was staring at Lance’s long, surprisingly delicate fingers). It’s nothing to get worked up about anyway.

 

Still, Keith watches Lance’s back closely as they return to their rooms.

 

\---

 

Two weeks worth of dinners later, Keith is getting concerned.

 

The first few incidences are easy to write off. He probably had a big lunch. He’s probably just not feeling great and is too cocky to admit it. He probably doesn’t want to eat any more of whatever questionable meal Coran prepared today (it’s totally understandable). But even on days where he can’t possibly have had time for lunch because they were called away for a mission or on days where Hunk made a strangely delicious feast, Lance just barely picks at his dinner.

 

He thinks Lance might be smarter than he lets on; he always keeps food on the end of his fork and gestures wildly with it as he distracts the team with his stories. If you weren’t looking closely, it definitely seems like he’s eating.

 

When Keith looks at Lance’s fingers now, he’s less amazed by how delicate they are and more concerned for their fragility. He realizes he’s hardly even seen Lance’s wrists, let alone the rest of his body. He wonders how small Lance’s waist is beneath all those layers. Keith tells himself it’s none of his business. He’s just being paranoid.

One morning he knocks on Lance’s bedroom door with a jar of something that resembles fruit and almost tastes like mango, or lime, or both. Hunk had found it recently on some strange planet they visited and dished it out for breakfast. It reminded Keith of when Lance would brag about his hometown’s fruit being better than anything in the universe.

 

Lance is in his pajamas again, just as dishevelled as he was the last time Keith saw him like this. He squints at Keith, then at the jar. “What’s up?” he asks, rushing to button his shirt.

 

Keith takes a moment to compose himself before speaking. “I, uh. Hunk brought us fruit for breakfast and I thought you might want some?” He rubs the back of his neck, feeling a little stupid all of a sudden.

 

“Oh,” Lance murmurs. “Why’d you think that?”

 

“Because...because you’re always talking about your mangoes and stuff back home, and it kind of tastes like a mango, and, yeah.” Keith can feel himself flushing already.

 

“I do?” Lance looks genuinely confused, and Keith wonders if he thinks no one ever listens when he speaks (well, Keith can’t say he doesn’t tune him out pretty often, so it’s fair). “Thanks, I guess, that’s…” He smirks. “…more thoughtful than I thought you could be.”

 

Keith scowls. “Shut up and take it.” Lance laughs and accepts the jar. “So you’ll eat it?”

 

“What?” Lance shoots him a little smile, and Keith’s heart may or may not flutter. “Yeah, man, of course.”

 

Keith allows the corner of his mouth to quirk up, and doesn’t miss Lance’s eyes catching on the movement. “Okay, good.”

 

Lance looks beyond perplexed. “You’re acting weird.”

 

“Excuse me for trying to be nice for once.” Keith clenches his jaw briefly. “I don’t hate you, you know.”

 

“Could’a fooled me.”

 

“Lance-”

 

“I’m kidding.” Lance grins cheekily. “I don’t really hate you either, even if you’re an asshole.”

 

“Hypocrite.” Keith rolls his eyes and turns to leave.

 

“Hey,” Lance calls. “Thanks.”

 

Keith doesn’t let Lance see the smile pulling his lips up even further.

 

\---

 

Lance doesn’t eat it. Keith is sitting in the kitchen when he comes to dump the jar out. Not that he was lingering around to catch Lance in the act or anything.

 

“You didn’t like it?” Keith asks, eyeing the full jar being unscrewed. He’s surprised at the hurt tone in his own voice, and wonders if he’s actually offended by this.

 

Lance startles, whipping around looking at Keith for the first time. “Fuck, dude, warn a guy!”

 

“I was just sitting here. It’s your fault for not being more aware.”

 

“Whatever.” Lance frowns at Keith, then at the jar in his hands. “I just wasn’t hungry, so I came to keep it cold.”

 

“I didn’t realize pouring things in the trash kept them fresh.”

 

“I wasn’t-!”

 

“You’re unscrewing it over a trash can, Lance.”

 

Lance mulls this over and eventually surrenders. “Okay, yeah. I don’t mean to reject your peace offering, dude. I just…” He tightens the lid and sets the jar on the counter with a sigh. “It made me miss fruit from home even more.”

 

Keith relaxes a little. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s not your fault!”

 

“I’m sorry anyway.” Keith turns his head to the side. “I don’t like making you upset, even if it’s an accident.”

 

When Keith is brave enough to glance back at the eerily silent Lance, he finds him looking for all intents and purposes like a fish out of water. Lance finally manages to stumble into some words. “Why are you so nice today?” he interrogates.

 

Keith doesn’t want to admit he’s worried about Lance, so he just shrugs. “You just haven’t been stupid yet.”

 

Lance gives him a weird look (not bad, just weird) and moves to put the fruit away. It’s a step, Keith thinks.

 

\---

 

Keith makes more of an effort to be nicer to Lance, and Lance returns the sentiment. They still bicker, but it’s less aggressive now, and they’ve begun to spend time together. Lance will join Keith while he’s training, or sometimes they’ll even pop in each other’s rooms to chat while there’s down time.

 

Keith has begun to come to terms with the fact that he may be a little bit into Lance. Pidge waggles their eyebrows at him whenever they catch Lance and Keith hanging out, so he guesses they’ve figured it out too. He’s a little nervous about that, if he’s honest. Pidge can be scary.

 

Lance still doesn’t eat much, but Keith doesn’t know what to do about it. Besides, Lance is keeping up fine with training and his energy levels are still off the charts. If he’s well enough to flirt with everything that moves, Keith is sure it can’t be that serious.

 

They’re in Keith’s room one night, sitting with their backs against the side of the bed and a platter of what Keith thinks are the alien equivalent of crackers and dip between them (as much as he tells himself Lance is doing fine, he’s still trying to get him to eat more). Lance is in the middle of a story when they both reach for a cracker and their fingers brush. Several feelings rush through Keith all at once. A static shock travels up his arm and warms his face from touching Lance on accident, followed by a happy realization that Lance wanted to eat. Lance has stopped talking, so he looks up to meet his eyes, their hands still hovering next to each other. Lance is pink. Keith is sure he’s matching.

 

“Keith,” he says, much quieter than he had been talking before. His eyes are wide. Keith can’t help himself, and leans in to press their lips together.

 

Lance is obviously surprised by this, and it takes a second for him to relax a little. Encouraged, Keith pushes away the crackers and leans closer to ease the angle. He can hear Lance take a soft breath through his nose and feels his lips soften against Keith’s. Lance turns his body towards Keith, and Keith moves his hands to his hips. Lance jumps at the contact and makes a small noise in the back of his throat. Those delicate fingers come up to touch Keith’s chest, and Keith lets his own fingertips dip just a centimeter or two beneath the hem of Lance’s shirt, just enough to feel the soft skin tight over his hip bones. All of a sudden Keith is being shoved backwards. He catches himself with his elbow, unfortunately right on top of the crackers.

 

“Lance?”

 

Lance is already on his feet and moving to the door. “Sorry, I can’t,” he squeaks out.

 

“Wait!” Keith scrambles to his feet, ignoring the crumbs stuck to his skin. “Hang on-!”

 

But Lance is out the door before Keith can get another word out.

 

Keith stands still for a moment, completely bewildered. A hot flush eventually washes over his body from humiliation. He swats the crumbs from his elbow and throws himself onto his bed, digging his hands into his hair and growling at himself. He got carried away. Stupid. He had ruined the shaky friendship he was finally starting to build with Lance with one dumb impulse.

 

He isn’t proud of how late he stays awake beating himself up.

 

\---

 

Keith doesn’t want to leave his room the next day, so he doesn’t. He polishes off the platter of crackers and dip instead of eating with the rest of the team. The pathetic excuse for a meal reminds him of Lance, and he sulks even more.

 

There’s a knock on his door that night. Keith perks up, only to deflate when “It’s Shiro, open up,” echos through the room.

 

Keith pulls open the door and ushers Shiro inside. “Hey,” he grumbles, returning to his seat on the bed. Shiro sits down next to him. He looks sympathetic.

 

“Is everything okay?” he asks, voice soft and reassuring. Keith feels like a child again.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“Keith…” Shiro lets out a small sigh. “Did something happen with Lance? He seemed very upset at dinner.”

 

Keith snorts. “Why didn’t you just ask him?”

 

“Keith, please,” Shiro chides.

 

Keith leans his elbows onto his knees and buries a hand in his hair. “It’s stupid.”

 

“It can’t be that stupid if you’re both so torn up about it.”

 

“Well, I’m stupid, then.” Keith finally looks at Shiro again, and crumbles a little when he sees how genuinely concerned Shiro is. “I…” He turns to glare at the floor. “I kissed him.”

 

Keith hears Shiro make a little “oh” next to him. A strong, warm hand comes to rest on his shoulder.

 

“I did talk to Lance after dinner. He didn’t give me any specifics, but he seemed like he was really beating himself up about this too. If you’re both blaming yourselves, I think you should just-”

 

“Talk it out, I know, I know,” Keith groans. He leans into Shiro’s touch, even as the man chuckles at him. “I don’t want to.”

 

“You’ll feel better.”

 

“Ugh.”

 

\---

 

Keith waits until the next afternoon to deal with the situation. He means to stop over in the morning, but he keeps chickening out and stalling with tasks that are all of a sudden important to have done immediately. He eventually runs out of things to distract himself with, and after getting a stern look from Shiro, he trudges over to Lance’s room.

 

He knocks twice. “Lance? It’s Keith,” he calls. He sounds more confident than he feels, especially when the door opens and Lance is looking down at him. Keith forgets everything he had planned to say and stares blankly at Lance.

 

“Come in,” Lance offers, seeming a little unsteady. Keith swallows and nods, trailing after him. Lance sits cross-legged on his bed, and Keith pulls out his desk chair to straddle. He rests his arms on the back of the chair and plops his chin on top. For a moment, it’s quiet.

 

“I wanted to apologize,” Keith finally blurts out. “I didn’t mean…” He wrinkles his nose and looks away. “I mean, I know I’m bad with social cues. I, uh, thought you were okay with me...you know.”

 

Lance shifts. “I was okay.”

 

“It’s fine, Lance, I’m fine, we can forget it ever happened.”

 

“Keith, I really did want it.”

 

Keith chews at his lower lip for a moment. “You don’t have to lie.  You ran out of the room.”

 

“Shut up for a second!” Lance flops backwards onto his mattress. “I don’t hate it, I just can’t.”

 

Keith can’t see Lance’s face anymore, but he hides his own behind his arms anyway. “Don’t lead me on,” he pleads, voice cracking. He feels his eyes stinging and grits his teeth to hold back whatever stubborn emotions he’s feeling.

 

“I’m not! I really like you!”

 

Keith tries to ignore the way his heart leaps to his throat. “Then what’s the problem?”

 

Lance’s voice is practically an octave higher when he speaks. “I just, I just-” He interrupts himself to take a deep breath. “It’s a me thing, you wouldn’t want to deal with me.”

 

“What does that mean? I already know you’re an asshole.” Keith stands up and approaches the bed. Lance sits up and makes room for Keith, who sits cross-legged in the space. Lance hunches over and toys with an edge of the comforter. “I don’t understand,” Keith murmurs, pleading.

 

“I thought about it before–I mean, not about you, just in general! But, also about you, I guess, recently,” Lance babbles. “I can’t date anybody. I can’t…”

 

“Why?” Keith prods. Lance glances at Keith, then back down to his bed.

 

“My mom always said you have to love yourself before anyone can love you. So.”

 

Keith feels the crease between his brows deepen. “Lance,” he says, almost a whisper. He reaches for his hand, and doesn’t retreat when Lance flinches away. He rubs his thumb over Lance’s knuckles. Keith is surprised by the contrast between soft skin and hard, protruding bone.

 

“You can’t make fun of me.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

Lance does his best to make eye contact, Keith can tell, but he can’t quite hold it once he starts talking. “I don’t eat,” he admits, shaky.

 

“I know.” Keith brings his other hand up to Lance’s neck and smooths down the short hairs behind his ear. Lance exhales.

 

“I hate the way I look.”

 

“I think you’re plenty attractive.”

 

Lance laughs, the sound a little hysterical. “You haven’t seen me.”

 

“What makes you think I won’t like what I see?”

 

“It’s ugly,” he whimpers.

 

Keith frowns and turns Lance’s face towards him. “Nothing about you could be ugly.”

 

“You don’t know-”

 

“Yes I do!” Keith glares at Lance until he glances away. “Look at me, Lance. I’d still like you even if you looked like a slug. But that doesn’t matter, because you look fine.”

 

“Keith…” He chews on his lower lip, eyes watering.

 

“Trust me.” Lance shakes his head, and Keith squeezes his hand. “Trust me, Lance.”

 

“Keith,” he hiccups. Keith runs his thumb along his jawline. Lance turns red at the motion and leans forward, burying his face in Keith’s shoulder. “I don’t want to make you deal with me.”

 

Keith snorts. “You can’t make me do anything. I want to deal with you.” He runs a hand down Lance’s back, feeling the knobs of his spine. “I want to help you.”

 

“Okay,” Lance whispers.

 

\---

 

It’s hard for Keith to be gentle. It takes everything inside of him to keep himself from yelling at Lance and shoving food in his mouth. He knows it won’t help anything, but he’s frustrated.

 

He guesses they’re dating, or something. They keep popping into each other’s rooms, but now they sit shoulder to shoulder and tangle their fingers. They keep training together, but now they bite at each other’s lips when they’re filled with adrenaline. Keith is lucky if he can even get a hand on Lance’s waist, though. He’s suddenly skittish and shy the moment he seems to be reminded of his body. It’s driving Keith nuts.

 

There is progress being made, though. When they’re sitting at dinner, Lance will take an extra bite or two if he catches Keith’s disapproving stare. Still, Keith doesn’t think it’s enough. He’s not sure what to do about it, though. It’s not like he’s a doctor.

 

He decides to consult Shiro.

 

Keith corners him in his room one night. Shiro raises an eyebrow and lets him inside.

 

“I see you and Lance have made up,” he says with a grin.

 

Keith flushes and folds his arms over his chest. “Shut up.”

 

Shiro barks out a laugh. “Okay. What’s up?”

 

“It’s...about Lance again.” Keith sighs. “You can’t tell anyone about this. He’d kill me.”

 

“If this is about space condoms, I don’t-”

 

“No!” Keith’s face is about to catch on fire, he’s pretty sure. He ignores Shiro’s smirk and presses ahead. “It’s serious. I need help.”

 

Shiro sits on his bed, but Keith remains standing.

 

“He’s not eating.”

 

A frown crosses Shiro’s face. “What? Is he sick?”

 

“No! Well…” Keith thinks about it. “...sort of, I guess. Sick in his head. He thinks, you know, he’s ugly or something.”

 

“Oh,” Shiro breathes.

 

“I don’t know what to do.”

 

“You’ve talked to him about it?”

 

“A couple times. He’s trying, but...” Keith rubs his neck. “There’s no therapy in space. I just want him to be better.”

 

Shiro nods. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but these things need patience, Keith.” He rests one of his large, warm hands on Keith’s shoulder. “Keep encouraging him. Try getting him to eat small things between meals. Be supportive.”

 

“Okay,” Keith sighs.

 

“Okay. I won’t say anything, for now. I’m trusting you to take care of him.”

 

\---

 

Lance presses his fingers into his clavicle, sometimes. Keith isn’t sure he knows that he’s doing it.

 

“Why do you always do that?” he asks one day.

 

“What?”

 

Keith gestures at Lance’s hand. “Touch your collarbone like that.”

 

Lance blinks at Keith, then looks down at his offending fingers. He chews on his lip and looks to the side, hand sliding over to grasp at his shoulder now, fingertips beneath the collar of his shirt. “You’re gonna be mad.”

 

“Why the hell would I be mad?” Keith snorts.

 

“I like to feel my bones,” Lance admits, voice soft. “I like it when they’re sticking out.”

 

Keith feels his heart sink. “Jesus, Lance.”

 

“I told you you’d be mad,” Lance says, petulant.

 

“I’m not.” Keith slides his fingers under Lance’s and pulls them away from his chest. “I just don’t like that you think about yourself like this.”

 

“I can’t help it.”

 

“I know.”

 

Lance sighs and weaves their fingers together.

 

“Hey, Lance, you’ve seen me shirtless, right?”

 

Lance raises an eyebrow at him. “Uh, I guess so?” A smirk crosses his face. “Maybe you should remind me though.”

 

Keith scowls. “Shut up. Do you think I’m attractive?”

 

“Uh, yeah dude, you’re a specimen.”

 

Keith brings Lance’s hand to his stomach, nudging his fingers into the softness below his navel no amount of training could erase. “Even though I’m not perfect?”

 

Lance frowns. “Well, yeah, nobody is. Are you showing off or something?”

 

“Why isn’t it okay for you to be imperfect?”

 

Keith squeezes Lance’s hand. Lance looks a little lost, eyes gluing themselves to where their fingers still rest on Keith’s abdomen.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

 

“Don’t apologize.” Keith lets go of Lance’s hand, instead running his fingers through the soft hairs at the base of Lance’s neck and pulling him close to kiss the top of his head. “I know it’s hard,” he murmurs into his hair, “but if it helps at all, you’re always perfect for me.”

 

Lance inhales sharply. “Keith,” he breathes.

 

“Don’t you dare tell anyone I said that,” Keith grumbles, pulling Lance in a little tighter. Lance snickers into his chest.

 

\---

 

Keith eventually relays Shiro’s advice to Lance (barring the fact that it was Shiro’s advice), and it’s helping. They start with just a cracker or two, maybe a spoonful of goo or a piece of candy. He tries to keep Shiro’s message in mind: patience. It’s hard, but he reminds himself of all the progress Lance has already made. At mealtimes, Lance still doesn’t finish his food, but he has as much as he can. Keith is always right next to him with a secret touch to his arm.

 

It’s towards the end of training one day that Keith begins to regret not letting the rest of the team in on Lance’s struggles. Hunk is helping Lance up off the floor and pauses to give Lance a once over. “Have you gotten bigger? I don’t feel like I could break you like a toothpick anymore. Oh, I know!” Hunk grins. “Puberty.”

 

Keith shoots a wide-eyed look to Shiro, who looks equally concerned.

 

Lance gasps, always one for melodrama, and smacks Hunk’s arm. “I’ll have you know I was an early bloomer! A super early bloomer! Girls were after me in the second grade!”

 

They banter back and forth for a while, both laughing light-heartedly, and all seems fine. Just to make sure, though, Keith tails Lance on the way back to his room. Sure enough, Lance seems to crumple in on himself the closer they get.

 

Keith doesn’t wait long after Lance closes the door before he knocks. “It’s Keith,” he calls, hand on the doorknob. He barely gets it open two inches when a body slams into it from the other side.

 

“Don’t come in!” Lance shrieks, panic laced in his voice.

 

“Are you okay?” Keith keeps his hand on the doorknob.

 

Keith hears a hiccup. “I’m fine, go away, I’m fine.”

 

“Are you crying? I’m coming in.” Ignoring the series of ‘no’s, Keith shoves the door open with his shoulder. Lance stumbles backwards, lower lip caught between his teeth and arms wrapped tight around his bare torso. Warmth rushes to Keith’s face. He’s never seen anywhere near this much of Lance’s skin. Keith frowns. He needs to control himself, especially right now.

 

“Don’t,” Lance whimpers, glancing behind him for something to cover up with. Keith slams the door closed with his foot and reaches out for Lance. He locks his hands around his upper arms and holds him tightly.

 

“Lance, look at me,” Keith demands. Lance hesitates before meeting his eyes with his own teary ones. He looks ready for an anxiety attack. “You’re nothing to be ashamed of.”

 

Lance shakes his head, choking on his words. “No, Hunk’s right, I gained weight, I looked better before.”

 

“He didn’t say that,” Keith scolds. “He was complimenting you. You’re getting stronger. You look great, Lance, you still look great. You look better, actually. You’re always saying you’re the best looking guy on this ship and you’re not wrong, you know.”

 

“That’s not true.”

 

“It’s true.”

 

“Not next to you!” Lance sobs, his nails digging into his own skin. Keith slides his own fingers between and pries Lance’s hands away before he can hurt himself.

 

“How can you say that! Look at yourself!” Keith squeezes Lance’s hands.

 

“I did! It sucked!”

 

Frustrated, Keith squeezes Lance a little too hard if his whine was anything to go by. “I don’t understand you! I love you so much, how come you can’t even love yourself a little outside of your stupid goddamn facade?”

 

Lance’s eyes widen. Keith doesn’t understand the reaction for a moment, still angry at himself and at Lance for not seeing what Keith saw in him. Finally, his own outburst sinks in, and he steps away from Lance like he’s on fire.

 

“I’ll,” he starts, before giving up and turning to escape. Lance grabs him again before he can make it more than a foot.

 

“Keith,” he calls, voice shaky. Keith is relieved somewhere beneath his humiliation to see Lance’s tears have stopped coming. “Did you mean that?”

 

Keith knows he’s a deep red by now. “I, uh. Well. Yeah.”

 

“Can I…” Lance hesitates before pressing his lips to Keith’s. It’s a little off and a little too firm, but Keith will forgive him this time. He’s a little too flustered to complain, anyway.

 

Keith makes a noise he’ll never admit to and reaches to hold the back of Lance’s neck. He doesn’t want to leave any room for Lance to escape. Lance sighs into Keith’s mouth and lets his hands rest on Keith’s hips.

 

Lance starts to back away, and Keith panics a little, immediately assuming he’s done something wrong to make Lance self-conscious again, to make him need to hide, to make him...pull Keith towards the bed. They topple onto Lance’s mattress, Keith soon getting rolled onto his back. He makes another undignified sound as he feels Lance’s thighs caging him in. Lance grins against his lips, and Keith can’t help but smile back.

 

It’s not long before Lance gets tired. Keith feels like he’s been on an emotional rollercoaster, and he’s sure it’s worse for Lance. He tugs Lance flush against his chest and runs his fingers through his hair. It’s still soft, even after being matted down with sweat. Lance nuzzles into his shoulder. Keith could fall asleep like this, he thinks. He could stay like this forever.

 

“Keith?” Lance whispers.

 

“Do you ever shut up?”

 

Lance pokes Keith in the side for his remark. Keith yelps a little. Satisfied, Lance settles down again.

 

“You really don’t think I’m ugly?”

 

Keith sighs. “Lance, you’re perfect the way you are. Or any way you ever are. You were pretty before and you’re pretty now and you’ll always be pretty.” He kisses the top of Lance’s head. “I just want you to be happy and healthy and like yourself.”

 

Lance hums. “I’m scared, Keith.”

 

“You’re doing great.”

 

There’s a minute of silence in which Keith begins to doze off.

 

“Keith?”

 

“Christ, what?”

 

Lance snickers. “They don’t call you the Red Paladin for nothing, you know.”

 

“If you don’t shut up and go to sleep I’m gonna make you the Black and Blue Paladin.”

 

\---

 

A few alien equivalents to months later, Lance is still a beanpole, but a sturdy one. Keith is still fascinated by his long fingers, especially when they’re trailing over his skin or wrapping themselves between his own. Lance has started showing up for breakfast every morning and finishing the majority of his meals at night. He’s not without his slip-ups and breakdowns, of course, but Keith does his best to be there and steer him on the right track again.

 

“Keith,” he says one night, long legs tangled with his, “thanks for doing all this for me.”

 

“Shut up.” Keith hides his face in Lance’s chest and pinches the skin on his side. Lance swats at him. “I’d do a lot more.”

 

Lance laughs, shaking Keith. “You’re such a romantic.”

 

“Shut up!” he snaps, but Keith is laughing too. “I’m just happy you’re happy.”

 

“Gag,” Lance says as he wraps him up in a bear hug.

 


End file.
